


When

by foodaddict



Category: Origin (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Me Processing My Feelings About the Ending of Origin Season 1, Pining, don’t read if you don’t want spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 08:31:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17825384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foodaddict/pseuds/foodaddict
Summary: He stumbles out of the airlock, wondering why he cares so much. They’ve known each other for just a little over a week.(Basically what I imagine to be Shun's POV after the finale.)





	When

**Author's Note:**

> So I finished _Origin_ and just let myself marinate in my feelings of frustration on behalf of my newest favourite pairing. I know there are a million things for other fandoms (okay, only three) that I should be writing right now, but I couldn’t help myself. This demanded writing, so my half-hour writing time for today went to this. I hope someone enjoys it! 
> 
> Apologies in advance for any typos. Had no time to edit.

        Shun stumbles out of the airlock, cursing under his breath, trying to force his legs to be steady. He’d been calm only minutes ago, when he’d laid Lana—or whatever was left of her—inside the probe and activated its return sequence. He doesn’t know why he’s shaking _now_ , why it’s harder to hold things together now that it’s done.

 

        He remembers hearing that intense, traumatic experiences can bond people. There’s a psychological, probably biochemical reason for why that happens, but Shun can’t remember what it is. Takeshi must have mentioned it once; Takeshi, who liked to educate himself on things and ramble to his little brother about his discoveries, hoping something would reach through the angry fog that had settled over him ever since their mother had gotten sick. The flashes of pain as he thinks of his loved ones are familiar, and for once, comforting.

 

        At least those losses he understands.

 

        He’s known Lana for nine fucking days. Where does he get off, feeling like he’s had his chest ripped out?

 

        He wipes absently at the tear as he watches the probe whir away towards Thea. The rational part of himself that has always saved him knows that he should get to the others—explain. Perhaps they’ll help him make sense of what’s happened. Perhaps they’ll help him see where he went wrong. Perhaps they’ll help him understand why he cares so fucking much.

 

        He needs to understand why he cares.

 

        He needs to understand so that he can make it stop.

 

 

*

 

        Maybe it’s because she’s the first person he sees in years.

 

        He doesn’t know it’s been years, of course, not immediately. But when the doors part and his gaze meets a pair of eyes that aren’t his own, something jolts inside him other than the instinctive need to defend himself. She steps into the light, stringy brown hair just starting to dry, blue eyes wide, and something about the desperate relief in them moves him.

 

        He isn’t alone.

 

        Whoever she is, she’s there.

 

*

 

        Maybe it’s because she has guts. He wonders what she had been on Earth, that she steps forward so readily when it’s time to take action. She’s terrified—it’s there in the way she holds her eyes as far open as she can, like she’s trying to find the tiniest hint of danger around them—but she doesn’t like just being afraid. She has to do something about her fear.

 

        He respects that.

 

        When she gets on the ladder, he finds himself asking her name, telling her his own. He wants her to know that they’re the same.

 

        He wants them to know each other.

 

*

 

        Maybe it’s because she makes him want to be better. Only Takeshi had managed that, and it had taken him dying to do it.

 

        Lana looks at him through those long lashes and all he wants to do is make her smile. Hell, all he wants is for her to look at him with those piercing blue eyes and not hate what she sees.

 

        He’ll grovel, if it means she’ll look at him.

 

        He’ll let his guard down, if it means she’ll trust him, too.

 

        He’ll expose himself to space and risk dying if it means he can catch her when she needs him.

 

*

 

        When she comes to his room and gets on his bed, it feels like a victory. Shun has never felt like much of a winner in his life, but he feels like one now, listening to her controlled breathing and feeling her warmth at his side. She’s upset—escaping death doesn’t always trigger an ecstatic feeling, though you would think it should—but he knows better than to reach for her.

 

        He isn’t sure what will happen if he does, but he doesn’t want to blow what’s between them. It’s fragile, but important. So important that his last thought before he sinks into sleep is that everything has been worth it.

 

        His entire life has been one big struggle, one crippling moment of agony after another, with a few spots of joy that only serve to remind him how much has been shit. He’s kept going because he’s stubborn, because he doesn’t know how to be anything other than a fighter.

 

        Now he knows what he’s been fighting to get.

 

*

 

        And it’s a lie.

 

        Maybe that’s why it hurts so much. He focuses on his breathing, on the mechanical process of inhaling and exhaling. He doesn’t know how he’s managed to reach the elevator, but it doesn’t matter.

 

        A part of him wonders if any of it matters. Does it matter that it was a lie, when it made him happy? Does it matter that she isn’t what he thought she was, when she was what he wanted her to be? Does it matter that he’s spent more days with the fucking alien than the real Lana, when the point is that she made him feel?

 

        There’s no time to sort things out, because when he reaches the control room he’s greeted by chaos.

 

        There will be time to deal with her and the mess inside him later.

 

        After all, whoever she is— _whatever_ she is—she’s there.

 

        She’s still there.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are love.


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